


Make It Better

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Short & Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:50:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: Steve effortlessly makes it all better





	

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Sam asked.  

Steve shrugged. "Not allowed to look at you?" 

"No. I'm still mad."  

"About the game?"  

Sam sighed. "I know it's dumb. Believe me; I know it's dumb. Just let me pout, okay?"  

"They're gonna win next week. And the week after that. Until the Super Bowl, where they're going to beat the Patriots." 

"We can't play the Patriots in the Super Bowl," Sam explained. Steve didn't know shit about football, but what he did know was that Sam hated the Patriots with a burning, deep, core-of-the-earth hot loathing.  "We're in the same conference. We gotta play an NFC team."  

"You'll beat them in the playoffs, then," Steve said. He nuzzled his head against Sam's shoulder. "51 to zero. A total shut-out. You'll have your way with them. Patriots fans won't be able to hold their heads up for at least a century."

Sam grinned. "How do you do that?" he asked. 

"What?"  

"Make me feel better like it's nothing."  

"It's the serum," Steve joked.  

Sam leaned back on the sofa and smiled. He hooked his pinky finger around Steve's on the couch cushion. Steve's body heat – the guy was a human furnace – was lovely against Sam's side. It was chilly out, properly autumn. Outside the window, the boughs of maple trees shivered with their yellow and red garments falling away. Sam had left the windows cracked because it reminded him of Harlem, back when he was a kid. His mama firmly believed in the power of fresh air (although fresh was relative in the city). Even in the dead of winter, she thought you ought to open the windows in your house to suss out all the germs and bad spirits. She was dichotomous like that – the bogeymen of science and religion could be ousted by a nice stiff breeze.  

Sam liked this, sitting on the couch with his husband, no worries, no obligations, just this. Just being mad about a dumb football game while the smell of sourdough bread baking filled the house. This was peace. This was perfect.  

Sam hadn't thought Steve would want to retire, even after he dropped the shield. And Sam had reconciled himself to the fact that he loved a man who _had_ to be saving people. But Steve had done it. He'd put down the shield and retired. And he'd seemed to do it gladly. He and Sam had bought a beautiful, little house in Chittendon, Vermont, right at the foot of the mountains. It was an isolated area, beautiful and lonely. Sam saw maybe one other black person in the area, and most everybody else was old and white and conservative. It wasn't a place you expected Sam and Steve to settle down in. Which made it perfect for them. Steve was a volunteer firefighter and Sam had taken the EMT training course and he worked with the hospital. It was a quiet job. Not much happened around here. Some hunting and boating accidents, a few car accidents. Once he got called in because a farmer's horse was giving birth and the vet was on vacation. Nothing much at all.  

Steve was teaching himself how to whittle, which Sam said was only a few steps away from lone mountain-man behavior, to which Steve had said, 'Well, I'm not alone' like that made whittling less weird as a hobby. He still wasn't very good. Most of his animals looked like the creations of a toddler or a deranged person who had only seen a dog once while it was moving very quickly. He was better at making chairs. Not the detail work, but the brick and mortar of it. Solid chairs that you could flop into without risk. Sam was trying to care about fishing. He'd been at it for a couple months, but it still bored him to tears. Next up on his list was knitting, because Etsy had got him really into large knit blankets, but he couldn't shell out the hundreds of dollars the sellers were asking for. Maybe he could become an Etsy seller himself one day. Making pearl gray ponchos and soft pink beanies.  

"Remember when we first met?" Steve asked. His voice was muffled against Sam's arm.  

Sam yawned and nodded. "When you publicly tortured and humiliated me on my morning run." 

"That's one way to describe it," Steve said, a smile in his voice.  

"Yeah, I remember." 

"I only talked to you that day for – what? Five minutes? And you made me feel better. I'd been out of the ice two years and in two seconds, you made me feel better about all of that stuff that came before. The least I can do is make you feel alright about the shitty game your team just had." 

Sam looked down at Steve. "So, what are you saying? We were meant to be?" He tried to pull off a joking tone, but didn't quite stick the landing.  

Steve lifted his head and kissed Sam's chin. "Maybe. Maybe the universe, the cosmos, God, whatever you want to call it saw two guys who were going to need some comforting down the line and matched them up." 

"Did you just compare your very real trauma to my hissy fit about a football game."

"All of your hurts are important to me," Steve said seriously. "And in the grand scheme of things, none of our problems are bigger or smaller than a football game with the universe rapidly expanding towards heat death."

Sam grinned. "I love when you get all philosophical and morbid about our love." 

Steve bit Sam's lip.  

"Is that what you call comforting?" Sam asked, laughing.  

Steve passed his lips over Sam's jaw, up to his ear, and bit the lobe. "How'd it make you feel?" he asked, his voice gone all sexy and intense.  

"I think it hurt a little. Might need some help with it."

Steve smiled against Sam's neck. "Let's see if I can't make you feel better." 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Part Deux of my NFL team letting me down in spectacular fashion, so I needed something soft and comforting to divert my attention.


End file.
